


Alice’s Angel

by Sp00py



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Gen, Hallucinations, Horror, Tags TBA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28559859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sp00py/pseuds/Sp00py
Summary: Susie moved to the city, got a job at Joey Drew Studios, and got the biggest role she could hope for, Alice Angel. Things are looking up for her!
Kudos: 2





	Alice’s Angel

**Author's Note:**

> I’m p much ignoring anything outside of the game, except where I want to borrow random small tidbits.

Susie bounces on the balls of her feet, a bottle shaken up and ready to explode. Why is he moving so  _ slow?  _ Yes, it’s already dark, and yes, this is a favor to her so she should be grateful (and she is!) but she’s also so, so impatient.

She’d made it to her front door before succumbing to the need to  _ know _ that had been hounding her since the script was practically thrown at her as she was leaving. Sammy was handsome, but even Susie had to admit he veered toward the rude, sometimes. She had thought she could wait until tomorrow, but the excitement thrums in her veins, and there’s no way she can sleep like that. And what sort of angel has a voice rasped from lack of sleep and too much coffee? Certainly not Alice.

_ Alice _ ! Susie’s going to voice her. She can’t believe her luck. And for Sammy to drop that on her at the last moment is ridiculous.

Every second between then and now has moved like tar, dragging her down.

A click of the lock, and Wally pushes the door open. The studio’s innards are dark and hazy, the front area lit only by the street lamp’s light pouring in.

“Thanks, Wally,” Susie says, breathlessly.

“Sure thing, Miss Campbell,” he replies, tipping his hat. “Don’t know why you’d wanna be in there when you’re not gettin’ paid, but —“

“I just forgot something.”

“Oh, right,” Wally says, like he doesn’t believe her, and she doesn’t blame him. She’d run all the way back, dark hair a mess of flyaways and cheeks ruddy from the brisk evening air. Susie knew he left as soon as he could, and didn’t want to miss him, so she’d all but flew. Kindly, he doesn’t say anything about her state, or how her gaze keeps darting toward the doorway. “Well, here’re the keys. When you find what ya forgot, you can just leave ‘em under that can.” He points to a trash bin. “Don’t wanna get in trouble for losin’ them again. Or anything else...”

Susie nods as she takes the keys and steps across the threshold. It feels like walking into a cave, suddenly cold and still. “Of course. Nobody will know I was here.”

“Well, goodnight, then.” He tips his hat again, ever the gentleman, and waits until the door is closed behind Susie to depart.

Susie’s never been in the studio after hours. It’s eerie. The lights are off, except for a few desks where someone forgot. That’s about the only illumination, because the studio has always been oddly absent of windows. It makes it stuffy and tomb-like even during the day. Susie’s hesitant to hunt for any switches, fearing somehow that someone would notice she’d been in, or that she’d forget to turn them off again. She doesn’t want to lose this job, and, now especially, she  _ can’t. _

It’s fine, though. The halls are the same whether the lights are on or off, right? Susie hopes so, though everything looks alien and ominous, dark pits where offices should be, endless voids where the hall once turned this way or that. She places a hand on the wall, and can feel the faint vibrations of the ink pipes just beyond the wood. They don’t clock out, she supposes, though she has no idea who is maintaining the machine pumping the ink at this hour, or why it needs to be on with nobody to use it. Or even what it’s for, when people  _ are _ using it. Susie has heard the animators wondering about the machine, or bemoaning its existence, though that was usually drowned out by Sammy’s sundry and loud complaints.

She isn’t paid to understand artists or machines, though, despite her own curiosity about this one. Susie’s on a mission.

She continues through the labyrinth of the studio, going mostly by feel and only occasionally by diffused, amorphous light spilling out of doorways. Susie’s shins will regret this adventure tomorrow. There’s a surprising amount of junk just laying around that she’s never noticed. Probably during the day it isn’t junk, but now all it does is confuse and disorient her, to the point where Susie’s backtracked more than she’s moved forward, she feels.

When she unexpectedly finds herself on the stairs of the projection booth instead of the hall to the recording booth, Susie gives up and climbs up to find the flashlight Norman keeps up there. Unlike certain other people that intimidate her, he’ll understand.

After some fumbling, a weak, yellow beam cuts through the darkness. Susie yelps as the light illuminates a cutout of Bendy tucked away in the corner, and immediately slaps her hand over her mouth. She flushes. There’s nobody here to see or hear her silliness, luckily, but it’s still embarrassing to be afraid of a cutout.

Once her heart rate settles, Susie leans out of the booth in curiosity, sweeping the flashlight beam across the empty room below. It’s a powerful feeling, looming over everyone else. Always watching but never being watched. It certainly explains some things about Norman.

The light casts shadows from the music stands and chairs, creating a weird, twisting, and silent orchestra. Her gaze slips over them toward her usual station, the recording booth.

There’s someone there. The light trembles across the wall as Susie’s hand shakes, and she drops the flashlight, but she knows what she saw. A shadowy figure behind the glass, hands cradling the microphone.  _ Her _ microphone. Well others use it, but Susie’s the one most often on it, especially now.

She fumbles for the light, and shines it again on the booth. Behind the glare, the person sways, amorphous but solid and threatening. Her script is in there with them.

Susie’s heart jumps in a way unrelated to fear, though she can’t say what it is, and she descends the stairs. Not quite running, but certainly not walking, either. Nobody’s here, now. Nobody should be. Everyone else is out drinking, and Susie had been invited, but she has work to do. She’s Alice, now. That’s a lot of pressure.

Susie has to be perfect for her.

She holds the flashlight and her clutch tight, like the flimsy little bag could ever serve as weapon or protection, as she circles to the booth. This is absurd. The person must know she’s here. She shone a light right on them. They’ll be gone by the time Susie arrives, and then she’ll be trapped in here with a loose lunatic.

The hall leading to the booth’s door stretches on for forever, but finally Susie arrives. If they’re gone, she can grab the script and run. Then tomorrow she’ll tell… somebody. Even if she gets in trouble, this is a danger to everyone in the studio. Surely Sammy at least will want to know about this intruder into his domain.

Susie pauses, listening and hearing nothing but the background hum of the pipes. Yet shadows move across the gap on the floor, and Susie realizes that the booth light is on. Was it on before? She hadn’t thought so. The only other person who’d be here at night is Wally, and he obviously didn’t come back in with her. This is definitely someone who’s not supposed to be here. They could be dangerous. A thief, or deranged. She should just leave — this isn’t worth the risk — no, Susie needs that script.

She won’t leave, but she won’t be stupid. Susie backs away on cats paws, then runs to the fire ax she’s passed every day for almost two months, now. She hadn’t ever thought much about it, because who really contemplates the safety of the buildings they’re in, but it immediately came to mind. She sets her clutch and the flashlight on a nearby chair and wrenches the ax from its holder. The faint whorls in the grain offer some strange comfort, grounding her.

She sneaks back to the booth, armed with the ax and her light. Her eyes jump to the recording sign. It glows. Susie’s heart pounds in her ears. Her grip is sweaty on the ax. This feels like a nightmare. What is she doing? She can get the lines tomorrow, when she’s getting paid to care about them.

Oh, but she cares about them so much, already. Alice’s words are trapped in there. She has to rescue them. 

Susie sets the flashlight down. Her fingers curl on the knob, and she pretends they’re not shaking. Deep breath.

She flings the door open, then adjusts her grip on the ax to wield it two-handed, ready to swing like a baseball batter.

The room is dark.

Ax still raised, Susie takes a wary step inside, scouring every corner as though a person could hide anywhere in the tiny booth. It’s empty. She leans out and scans the hall, in both directions. Of course, nobody could have gotten past her, but she’s at a loss to explain where the person went. The recording light is off.

Skin prickling like there are eyes on her, Susie ducks into the booth and snatches up the packet she’d left (she can’t believe she left it in the first place!) when clocking out for the day. She has no idea how she had convinced herself to look at it tomorrow when Sammy came by to deliver it. Susie instantly relaxes as she sees the title SENT FROM ABOVE splashed across the first page, the words a little blurry in the weak sodium glow of the flashlight at her feet. Then she realizes she has an ax in her other hand. She should put that back.

Script in hand, Susie soon shakes the unnerving sense of company, replacing it quickly with excitement and justifications. She must have just imagined that. Mama always did say she had an active imagination. It was how Susie had done so well in the theater, getting lost in the roles, going above and beyond. Alice, though. Alice is something special. She just knows it.

So, Susie replaces the ax, picks up her clutch, and contemplates returning the flashlight before deciding to do that tomorrow. She still needs to find her way back out, after all, and now that she has her lines, Susie doesn’t want to be in this haunted house of a studio a moment longer. Even though clearly nobody was there at all, it’s hard to shake the feeling that someone else is in the studio, too, roaming these halls.

When she makes it to the door, Susie locks up before hiding the key ring Wally had lent to her under a trash can outside, as per their agreement. It’s drizzling, less rain and more as though fog has started to fall, turning the asphalt and glass around her into glossy, mirrored surfaces, and the street lights and glowing windows of other buildings into glowing clouds.

The trip home is uneventful, which Susie’s frazzled nerves appreciates. Her apartment is nothing exciting, cheap and rundown, but it is hers, and it is here that she can finally see what she’ll be lending her voice to. Who she’ll be lending it to.

Alice Angel.

Just the name fills her with… with joy? Comfort? Whatever it is, it bubbles up inside and makes her heart feel tight, but in a good way. It’s like when Sammy smiles at her, but more profound than the shallow crush on a pretty face she knows that is. Susie had seen drafts of the character on animator’s desks, and been immediately drawn to her large, soft eyes and kind face. Susie knew the world would love her, and being asked to voice Alice? That was everything Susie could have hoped for. Now, tonight, she’d get to know the personality beneath the halo.

Susie pulls the lamp cord, and a warm yellow glow cocoons her in her chair. She pulls the throw her mother had knit her from the back of it, and soon her cat, Belle, joins her as well. She flips the first page and begins to read.


End file.
